


you know that i've been waiting for you

by badbadnotgood



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbadnotgood/pseuds/badbadnotgood
Summary: “You don’t kiss me,” Villanelle says, voice heated. “You never kissed me until then.”“I wanted to,” Eve says. She feels brave, alive. “I wanted to.”
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 10
Kudos: 259





	you know that i've been waiting for you

It’s easy not to talk about the kiss, because Villanelle isn’t here and nobody else knows that it happened. Except maybe those few people on the bus who witnessed Villanelle literally mount her.

Good thing they don’t count.

She distracts herself with work, tries not to think about it, but work is Villanelle. Work is murder, assassins, mafias. She looks at dead bodies and crime scenes all day and looks for anything that suggests it’s the work of Villanelle. The discreet, tactile murders don’t interest her like Villanelle’s kills do. An air bubble to the heart injected under the toenail is fucking cultivated, unheard of. But all Eve cares about is whatever Villanelle’s doing.

She thinks of red apples, expensive clothes and her name in flowers. She thinks about honey-coloured hair, soft knuckles brushing her chin, olive green eyes that feel like they’re staring into her soul. When she’s not thinking about any of that, she’s thinking about knives and gunshot wounds.

Sometimes, she remembers she’s still married. She’ll open a drawer in her room looking for tweezers and see her wedding ring. Her mind goes to divorce paperwork and expenses, and guilt from how much she’s ruined Niko’s life, or what’s left of it.

Eve knows she’s lonely, she doesn’t need a shrink to tell her that. When you lose everything for something you know you can’t have, it fucks you up a little. She should probably be gripping on to what little she has left with white knuckles.

Which is why Eve finds herself standing outside Carolyn’s house a few hours later with an apology sitting on her tongue. She feels pathetic, but it’s a lot better than feeling completely isolated. Her daughter answers the door, awkward and slightly stunned, and Eve immediately feels terrible for forgetting her name.

“Hi,” Eve says. “Is your mother in?”

“She’s actually having a lie down, but I can get her up if it’s important,” she says.

“Yes. Thank you, if that’s okay.”

“Eve,” she says, vaguely surprised. “You interrupted my daily nature sound listening.”

“Sorry?” Eve offers.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, actually. I just wanted to say sorry. For how I was today at lunch.”

“Ah,” is what Carolyn says, then she grabs a bottle of strong whiskey and fills half a glass, neat. Eve tries to hold back a grimace when she knocks back a huge gulp of it.

Eve wants to talk about something, anything that isn’t work, and comes up with nothing. It’s a stinging reminder that work forces them into each other’s lives.

“You know, Eve,” Carolyn says, “Frank Sinatra was buried with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.” She drains the rest of the glass. “Now isn’t that a wonderful way to rot in the dirt?”

Eve listens to the fridge humming in the silence.

“Would you like some tea, Eve?” Carolyn’s daughter asks quickly. Eve strains every muscle in her face and prays it helps her remember this lovely girl’s name.

“I’d love some, please,” she says. “Thank you.”

The kettle takes an eternity to boil and Eve observes the bizarre awkwardness between Carolyn and her daughter, atmosphere like they’re strangers. She thinks about Kenny, then, terrible with women and terrified of his own mother. It’s probably what happens when you put your work before your kids and send them off to boarding school.

Eve clears her throat as her tea brews.

“I just wanted to be real for once. No work, no assassins, no…” She tastes the word. “…Villanelle.”

“That’s rather brave of you, Eve.”

Eve shrugs. “We’ve been through a lot, talking about it helps.”

She looks to Carolyn’s daughter, miserable and closed in on herself, and realises coming here was a mistake.

“I recommend those white noise audiobooks,” Carolyn says. “Very relaxing.”

Eve sips scorching hot tea and wonders if faking menstrual cramps will be a polite enough excuse to get the hell out of this house.

*

Villanelle’s there a good five minutes before she decides she should probably be considerate of Konstantin’s physical wellbeing, or whatever, and not scare the shit out of him this time. She switches a light on and sprawls casually on the couch so when Konstantin walks in, he won’t have a heart attack.

Silence. A minute passes.

She gets up and pads into the kitchen, bored. She snags an apple from the fridge. It’s red and shiny. She bites into the skin, pleased at the crunch she gets.

The night is eerily quiet, and Villanelle wonders just what the fuck Konstantin gets up to here. He’s way too old to be bringing women back here the way Villanelle does. He goes for walks, looks around shops and buys nothing, gets lunch from a food truck. Weirdo.

They have him shacked up here to keep an eye on him, Villanelle knows, and he does as he’s told because they’re protecting his family. It doesn’t stop Villanelle being freaked out by how impersonal the place is, lonely. There’s a strange clinical feel to it, like he sleeps and showers here and not much else. Villanelle knows when home doesn’t feel like _home_ , because baking cakes and playing music she loves doesn’t compare to reheated Shepherd’s Pie and champagne from coffee cups in a house where she feels safe.

The rattling of a lock pulls her out of her thoughts, and she does her best to look casual, so Konstantin doesn’t shit his pants.

He steps in, exhausted, and puts a hand to his chest when he sees Villanelle.

“How did you get in—you went through my fridge!”

“You were taking too long and I wanted a snack,” she argues. “You know I love a good apple.”

He’s wearing his long coat, no bags of groceries or anything to suggest he’s _home_.

She thinks he needs a hug.

“You need to stop arriving here, unexpected,” he says. “My death won’t be on The Twelve, it’ll be people waiting for me in the dark and giving me a damn heart attack.”

She rips another chunk from the apple and chews. “You should expect me by now.”

He sighs.

“Sadly, I do.”

“You love me,” she says. “How is Irina?”

“She’s okay, I assume,” he says. “I worry about that man her mother’s dating.”

“Because he’s a creep?”

“Yes.”

“Irina told me she doesn’t think he’s a pervert. And if he turns out to be, she can always hit him with a car.”

Konstantin gives her a look. “And she would know how to use a car that way, would she?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I taught her the other day. Have to be prepared for anything.”

He takes a long, deep breath. “Villanelle,” he says. “I’ve told you about your reckless behaviour around my daughter.”

She shrugs. “She’s a tough cookie.”

Konstantin rubs a hand over his face. He’s definitely not getting enough sleep, if those bags under his eyes are anything to go by.

“You better not have made her hit someone with it,” he tells her.

He slips off his coat and throws it over the surface closest to him.

“Me?” Villanelle says sweetly. “Are you kidding? Complete open space. You know I love the little munchkin.”

He gives her a look that tells her he’s not convinced.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

“Eve,” she says, easy.

He doesn’t even flinch.

“You never learn,” he says. “Do you?”

She abandons her apple and fixes him with a look. They both know she’s not leaving here until she knows her way to Eve’s place, and from the look on Konstantin’s face, he’s already accepted that.

“This is a nice place,” Villanelle says, arm waving in the general direction of the living room. “But I would prefer to be at Eve’s, so are you going to give me the address?”

“Why do you assume I have it? I don’t watch her from the bushes like you do.”

Villanelle laughs hysterically.

“You talk to Carolyn," she says, "And she knows about Eve’s entire fucking life.”

There’s a pause.

“Carolyn and I are not what you think.”

Villanelle shrugs, bored.

“You know everything, Konstantin,” she says. “And you know that the best thing you can do for me right now is tell me where Eve lives.”

He huffs, gives her that exhausted look of a father about to give in to his child yet again. He always does, Villanelle just has to ask a handful of times and push out her bottom lip. Rinse, repeat.

“Please,” she says.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine.”

*

Villanelle bought another pants suit recently, mauve and expensive. The jacket hangs baggy over a lace bralette, the trousers hugging her waist and flaring at her feet. Her hair sits at the nape of her neck in a tight ponytail, sleek and pressed.

She walks into Eve’s place.

It feels colder than the house she sold, like the way Konstantin lives. There’s no lingering smell of a home-cooked meal, no smell of warm cotton or air freshener mounted on the wall.

She hears Eve before she sees her, the sounds of rummaging through drawers and a hairdryer. She realises, then, that Eve’s just showered, and decides against walking into her room. She dips into the kitchen instead, pours herself a glass of water. The cupboards are bare, enough cutlery and food for someone who has no interest in settling in here.

Villanelle makes enough of a racket to get Eve’s attention, to get her to come to her.

And she does.

“What the hell,” she breathes.

Her curls hang damp and loose, face washed clean of any makeup. She wears shorts and an old t-shirt, far too big for her. She stands awkwardly on socked feet. She looks beautiful.

“Hi, Eve,” Villanelle says.

*

“How did you know—“

“Konstantin,” she says.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“Because I go where I want,” Villanelle says. “And I want to be here.”

The words sit in the pit of her stomach, warm. She can smell the expensive perfume coming from the heat of Villanelle's neck.

“You can’t just,” she starts. A pause. “Why?”

“I need you.”

Eve scoffs. She’d be furious if she had the energy. If she could be furious at all.

She leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs, assumes Villanelle will follow. She doesn't want this conversation in her kitchen, because terrible things have happened there. Also, there are sharp knives that live in drawers metres from them. In her room, the worst Villanelle could do is knock her out with a hairdryer.

Villanelle follows her like she knew she would and sits on the edge of Eve's mattress, awkward.

“I had nothing before I had my job,” she says. “My mother threw me in an orphanage where everyone looked at me like I’d kill them at any moment. Then Dasha found me. She took one look at me and the fireworks went off behind her eyes. She built me to kill.”

Eve watches her like she’s a frightened rabbit about to run. She waits, a silent push for her to continue.

“So, I killed. I killed and it paid for my champagne and Van Noten. But then you came along, Eve. You saw me. All I ever wanted was to be seen.”

She looks smaller than usual, sitting on Eve’s bed. Vulnerable. Eve joins her hesitantly.

“Guess I can’t go anywhere without you finding me,” Eve says.

Villanelle laughs, hysterical.

Eve frowns.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing at all,” she says. “Our first kiss. On a fucking bus.”

Right, the kiss. The kiss that she's been studiously avoiding thinking about because it's been slowly eating her alive.

“That’s normal for us,” Eve says.

Villanelle blinks.

“You hit me in the nose.”

“Again, nothing out of the ordinary for us.”

“You don’t kiss me,” Villanelle says, voice heated. “You never kissed me until then.”

“I wanted to,” Eve says. She feels brave, alive. “I wanted to.”

Villanelle’s in her space, then, breath warm on her cheeks. She smells amazing, like expensive perfume and soap and _Oksana_. It makes Eve dizzy and warm, fills her with want. Villanelle doesn’t touch her, though, but her eyes burn into Eve’s.

“Tell me why you wanted to,” she says.

Her eyes flick from Eve’s mouth and back to her eyes.

“Because I want you,” she admits. “You’ve crawled your way into every corner of my life. I wake up, I think of you. I try to work, sleep, eat, and it’s you everywhere.” She pulls at her hair, frantic. “Your eyes and your hands. And suddenly you were there, all over me, and I let myself have it.”

“Oh, Eve,” she says, soft and pretty. “You can have anything you want from me.”

Eve kisses her, then, has to. She grabs a fistful of her stupid, expensive jacket and yanks her to her mouth. Villanelle is ready for it, never taken aback. Never one step behind. Of course she has the upper hand in this field, Eve will have to hold on for dear life. They kiss with teeth, lips and tongue. Villanelle’s mouth is soft and wet, feminine, and she curls her tongue around Eve’s mouth in a way that makes heat pool low in Eve’s thighs.

Villanelle pulls back, then, and Eve would complain, but she’s sliding off her suit jacket, eyes drinking in the sight of Eve the whole time, hungry.

“The way you taste…” Villanelle starts, and Eve kisses her quiet.

She pulls away again, and Eve wants her back. Wants her all over her.

“Eve,” she says, breathless. “Strip.”

That’s all it takes. She peels away each item with confidence, utterly turned on by the way Villanelle watches her. Like she wants to eat her alive.

Villanelle follows, unbuttons her pants and lets them fall to the ground, revealing long, pale legs that curve and dip. Her lace top goes next, expensive garments thrown carelessly to the floor and it makes Eve’s head swim with lust.

Eve lets her guide her down to the bed, push her into the mattress. Villanelle kisses at her jaw and neck with those pink lips, tongue dipping out every so often and licking, making Eve shiver. She kisses the dips of Eve’s collarbones, her breasts, down to her naval.

She meets Eve’s eyes, pupils blown so wide that Eve can no longer see the olive green, and hooks two thumbs under Eve’s underwear.

“Eve,” she says, a question.

“If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

She likes that it earns her a smile, Villanelle’s now puffy lips spread across perfect white teeth. She peels away the fabric, throws it to the side with the rest of their clothes.

She feels vaguely self-conscious about having not been with a woman before, where Villanelle’s had all the lesbian sex her heart desires, but she feels like Villanelle knows this. She was with Missionary Sex Nick for years, of course she’s had no experience with someone well versed in female anatomy.

“I’ve never...“ Eve says, “...With a woman.”

As anticipated, Villanelle looks at her unbothered.

“Good,” Villanelle says, “All mine.”

Then she slips two fingers into her. Eve squirms against the sheets at the swiftness of it, clenches around the intrusion because that’s _Oksana_ inside her; Oksana’s fingers twisting and curling and forcing out desperate noises Eve didn’t know she could make.

She nearly blacks out when she feels Oksana’s tongue against her, warm and firm, fingers driving into her expertly. She swirls her tongue over Eve’s clit and sucks firmly, and Eve can’t hold back how overwhelming the sensation is. She whines and moans into the quiet of the room, goes to grab at Villanelle’s hair and makes a sound of annoyance at it being tied back. Instead, she grabs at the ponytail and tugs. Oksana moans right into her, the vibrations pushing Eve closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” Eve says. “Oh my god.”

Oksana picks up her pace, licks and sucks at Eve’s clit and curls her fingers just right. Eve cries out wordlessly, the muscles in her pelvis fluttering. Another swipe of Oksana’s tongue gets her there. Eve throws her head back and rides out her orgasm with Oksana’s name sitting on her tongue.

“ _Oksana_.” Eve is breathless.

“You’re amazing,” Oksana says, voice thick like honey. “God, look at you.”

Eve lets out a broken whimper and kisses her wet and messy. She curls her tongue around Oksana’s, tastes herself on her tongue, brain still foggy with bliss.

Eve gets onto her knees and pushes Oksana back into the sheets, hands touching every part of her they can reach. She works two fingers into her effortlessly, moaning at how wet Oksana is for her.

“Yeah,” Oksana says, “Like that.”

She’s doing it again, staring into Eve’s soul with those gorgeous eyes, but this time there’s lust and pleasure. Eve doubles her efforts, pushes her thumb to Oksana’s clit and rubs circles into her.

Their eye contact doesn’t falter and Oksana’s breathing stutters. She meets the thrusts of Eve’s fingers with her hips and throws her head back.

“You’re mine,” Oksana breathes, eyes back on Eve’s within seconds. “Aren’t you? Tell me, Eve.”

“You know,” Eve says, breathless, fingers working her over.

“I want to hear you say it,” she says. “I’m so close.”

Oksana's hot breath fans over Eve's face. 

“Yours,” Eve says, and Oksana’s mouth drops. “And you’re mine.”

When Oksana comes, it’s maybe the most beautiful thing Eve’s ever seen. Her eyebrows are furrowed, mouth pink and wet and she's moaning Eve’s name like it's all she knows.

*

“I got married,” Villanelle says the next morning.

Eve’s pouring them tea and toasting crumpets. She almost burns her hand on the boiling water.

“What?” she says.

Villanelle shrugs like it’s nothing, because it kind of is nothing. At this point, at least. “We’re separated, obviously. Well, I sort of abandoned her, so I don’t know if separated is the right word.”

Eve blinks once.

“What?” she says again.

“I met her in an airport, told her I was going wherever she was. I wanted sex and a distraction, so we dated. Then it got serious. I wanted to give her what you wouldn’t let me give you.”

The tea and crumpets are seemingly forgotten, Eve’s attention full on Villanelle. She looks angry, maybe sad.

“And yet, you’re here,” Eve says.

“Yeah, I’m here. I was told you were still alive.”

Eve scoffs, stirs the sugar into her tea slightly on the aggressive side.

“No thanks to you,” Eve spits.

“You broke my heart, Eve.”

A teaspoon hits the floor.

“You nearly killed me!”

“You nearly killed me, too!”

There’s silence. It’s heavy and it makes Villanelle’s skin crawl. She doesn't want this, the arguing, but she wants to be honest with Eve. There's no other way around it.

“I guess we’re perfect for each other,” Villanelle says.

Eve picks up the spoon and drops it onto the worktop. She rests her hands on the edge of the sink, takes a deep breath.

“You’re not joking,” Eve says. “Are you?”

“Not even a little bit.”

That’s mostly it for the bickering, Villanelle assumes. They have breakfast together, Villanelle trying to reassure Eve with eye contact and soft touches. Eve doesn’t tell her to fuck off, so she counts it as them getting past it.

Later, after Villanelle’s showered, she’s sitting on Eve’s bed and braiding her hair. Eve comes in with more tea and some fruit.

“Hostess with the mostess,” Villanelle says.

Eve doesn’t laugh, not like Villanelle hoped she would. She looks at her instead, brown eyes burning into her, terrified and loving.

“Stay,” Eve says.

Villanelle stares back at her.

“For how long?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Eve says. “But I need you to stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Villanelle says, and Eve kisses her again.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from party 4 u by charli. thank you so, so much for reading, any feedback is wholly appreciated <3
> 
> come say hi on tumblr @rapweezer x


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